


Synesthete

by cuntoid



Category: Hemlock Grove
Genre: Animal Instincts, Bathroom Sex, Biting, Blood Kink, Bloodlust, Coercion, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Finger Sucking, Fingerfucking, Forced Orgasms, Humiliation, Mention of Daddy Kink, Name Calling, Pain, Rape/Non-con Elements, Semi-Public Sex, Synesthesia, roman could or could not be using his gnarly influence we just don't know for sure, roman wants to eat you, upir bullshit, you make the call!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 03:12:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,176
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15720813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuntoid/pseuds/cuntoid
Summary: Enjoying live music comes in many forms.





	Synesthete

**Author's Note:**

> A really selfish and gross personal ditty that I've been fucking with for a billion years. Here! Have my pent up tension and a taste of neurological chaos

It’s painfully clear halfway through the opening band that it’s going to be a great night.  
  
Music blares from speakers and cuts through the darkness of the tiny venue, a small room with a stage and a tightly packed gathering of people whose vests glimmer with studs like stars, like the silver rings in their noses, lips, ears, eyebrows. There are enough combat boots to outfit a small army, enough cheap beer and unwashed skin to permanently alter the air of the room.  
  
The current act plays with raw and vicious gusto, the vocalist screaming in the general direction of the pit opened up in front. You stay safely tucked to the side behind a line of bodies, peeping the action from behind people too tall for you to fully see beyond unless you rise on tip-toe, and in the cloak of darkness reserved for the crowd, you flush and bite your lip. Each riff builds heat in small tingles, racing through your belly like fireflies and bursting hot and low between your thighs, each low stroke of the bass or the heavy, rapid pulse of the drums vibrating through your core and scrubbing you clean of everything but animalistic lust. You shift on your feet and wring your hands, holding your breath to swallow down the urge to sigh with each satisfying spasm of your cunt. By the time the band is over, you’re wet and desperate for the next act to climb onstage and start the sound check. People mill about as the lights come back on and generic rock music plays through the speakers as the musicians tear down their gear. Without company or the urge to buy merchandise, you furtively watch the thinning crowd and check on your phone.   
  
“You always come to these things alone?”  
  
A glance to the side turns into a glance up, meeting the lidded gaze of a tall, slim stranger. He smirks over the edge of a scarf tucked into the lapels of a black coat, hair slicked back and effortlessly coiffed. He looks, in a word, misplaced. You offer him a polite smile as you recover from being startled and he pulls his hands from his pockets.  
  
“Sometimes. You?”  
  
He produces a cigarette and parks it between full lips, eyes the color of seawater under that heavy brow. He only looks away to light it and take a small drag, blowing a delicate plume of smoke in your direction before offering what is clearly not a cigarette – you take the joint slowly and look around the room before sneaking the smallest of tokes and returning it. His fingers brush yours and you notice their length, graceful and slim and thick-knuckled.   
  
“I do most things alone,” he amends through a lungful of smoke. “Don’t usually come to shit like this, but… _fuck_ , why not?”  
  
“You might wanna put that out, I don’t think you can smoke in here.”  
  
He scoffs a little laugh as he drags deep, smoke filtering through his nostrils and in curled, floating ribbons from his parted lips. Through the veil of it hanging around his face, cheekbones severe in the harsh yellow light, he looks amused.  
  
“I can smoke just about anywhere I _feel_ like—a benefit of the Godfrey bloodline.”  
  
You roll your eyes at this pretty, allegedly rich boy as you accept his drugs. “Yeah, I’m crying for you. So, what, you Godfreys in the growing business or something?”  
  
He considers your question and rolls it around in silent consideration, giving nothing away through his stony gaze. He scans the room and you turn away, convinced he’s done speaking on the matter. The next band sets up and the spark in your belly reignites. Even sound check would be a relief to the dull, persistent throb of your pulse lighting up like a glow in your veins. The man beside you – _Godfrey_ – hums and extends his hand until those spidery fingers are pressing the joint to your lips. You kiss his fingertips to take the hit and close your eyes against the chase of heat racing over your cheeks and up your throat. Again he laughs, a smug sound that tugs you from his intimate gesture and back to earth.   
  
“Okay, so, what is it?”  
  
“What?”  
  
“What’s got you all _worked up?_ ” He smiles the clever kind of smile that turns inward, full with secrets, with self-satisfaction. “Twitchy.”  
  
“Hard to sit still,” you offer, eager to brush it off. “I’m just excitable.”  
  
“Is that why you're out here squirming in the crowd, eyes rolling back?”  
  
Voices and disjointed strumming flows into the room and the crowd fills out once more, faces turned eagerly to the stage, awaiting the lights to go out as you gape at this stranger. His eyes narrow at you and the corner of his lip curls back, that tiny gesture cementing your feet to the floor with some deep, pervasive fear you can’t quite place. It’s as alien to you as he is to this setting, some spoiled brat milling about with the supposed degenerates. A particularly pleasing riff tugs at your ear for a moment and your focus flickers between Godfrey and the stage.   
  
“Getting off in public.” He coughs a little through his smirk and it’s not a cough at all, lazily masked as he swallows his laughter. “I was _watching you_ , you know. Couldn’t help myself. You’re clearly having such a good time in this fucking shithole. Had to come find out for sure.”  
  
He looks like the cat that got the cream, snickering into his joint, bowing down to offer it from his hand again. Uncomfortable and uncomfortably titillated, you surrender to his hospitality and attempt to wrap your head around what he’s accusing you of, regardless of how correct he might be. You wrinkle your nose a little and give him a look, one that you’re hoping conveys playful scrutiny instead of the lick of fear in your chest like a flame.  
  
“Watching me? That’s… fucking creepy.”

“Yeah? I don’t think you’re in any position to judge.” He flakes the joint on the floor under his shoe with zero regard to the tightening crowd or their safety, steadily pressing closer to you by sheer force of the surrounding bodies as the lights kill off. His accusation hangs in the air between you and becomes lost in the bone-buzzing vibration of the music. He bows down to your ear as you’re nudged and pushed against this stranger in the sticky darkness, your back against his chest and his lips brushing your lobe. “I’m interested in seeing what _other_ positions you can do, though.”

“ _Wow._ Does that line work for you? Do you get around the country club with that one, the golf course? All those crisp white skirts?”

“I’ll bet if I push my fingers into your panties, they come back wet. _That_ would probably work for me.”

You want to respond. You want to do anything but stare helplessly at his lips as he hovers over your shoulder to watch the effect he has over you, reading the minute tics and twitches of your face in response. He tucks his full bottom lip between his teeth and the sensation of his fingers creeping under the waist of your jeans is enough to make you whine a little, lost in the chaos of sound around you – but it’s not lost on this stranger. Not one bit. Two long fingers skim over the slippery fabric of your panties and prod against your clit, his breath sucking sharply between his teeth in a gasp, and that alone is enough to make your knees buckle.

“ _You’re soaked._ ”

“I don’t even know you.” Your voice comes out in a whine against his ear, shaky, pathetic. “I – I’m not just going to hook up with some asshole at a show, some _stranger._ ” 

“Oh, no? You’re _not?_ You haven’t been writhing in this filthy fucking _dumpster_ of a club, desperate for some stranger to fill you with cock? I find that hard to believe… _very_ hard. Like I said – I was _watching_ you. Watching you twitch and bite your lip and get that vacant, _fuck-hungry_ stare. I can fucking _smell_ you.”

He twists your panties to the side and traces a delicate line up the seam of your cunt, slippery enough that he doesn’t need to prod any further before his fingers are wet. Now his eyes roll back, and the band really goes into it. You steal a glance at the stage as the music swells up between your thighs to join Godfrey’s torturously slow touch - no penetration. No stroking your clit. Only the tease of him, egging you on, daring you to tell him to stop again. He grabs your chin with his other hand and brings your gaze back to his, burning like the flames of a crematorium as his pupils expand into endless pools of space, the kind that could swallow you whole and never let you go. He thrusts two fingers into your cunt without warning and it’s like a jolt of lightning. He tilts his head as he crooks them, searching with firm, delicious strokes until he finds a plush spot that has you swallowing whines back, hips jerking with the sweet bursts of liquid heat in the cradle of your pelvis. 

“ _Mmm, there it is_. Better keep it together,” he laughs in your ear. He hums there, lips pressed against your jaw, so deft with his fingers that you’re already trapped. The urge to pull away from him all but evaporates, the circumstances too perfect for you to resist. There’s a triumphant nip against your throat, the moaning laugh as his thrusts become faster, harder, meaner. “It’s the band. You’re getting off to the fucking music, I can feel you squeezing me to the rhythm. _Slut_.”

A curse tumbles from your lips in the barest whisper, but pressed close like this, it can’t get by him – apparently _nothing_ gets by him, even in the dark, even as you strive to turn away from his stare. His eyes burn trails of fire over your body as he drags them down, over your breasts and belly to where you’re bucking into his palm. Trapped against him as his fingers pump into your dripping cunt, you cum for him. It’s deep and quick, violent, taking the both of you by surprise. It happens once and then again, fireworks popping in rapid succession as you clamp down on his fingers.

“ _I said to keep it the fuck down. God_ , you’re easy… it’s really kind of pathetic. Cumming so hard on a stranger’s fingers, dripping down my fucking knuckles. _Keep. Looking. Ahead_. If you’re this tight for a quick finger-fuck, what will you be like on my cock? Oh, do you _like_ that? Thinking about bouncing on my cock like the needy slut you are? Are you gunna cum again while this awful song plays, all that bass… you feel it in your tight little cunt? _Show me._ Show me, _whore_.”

It happens regardless of his urging, predictable as clockwork, squeezing tight in bursts as he laughs and forces the spasms out of you, careless of the discomfort that comes with being stimulated too much too fast. He fucks into that swollen spot with curved fingers, clawlike, like he might split you open from the middle.

“ _Fuck you, creep._ ”

His eyes shine in the dark like jewels, secret and black as the smooth, polished stones at the bottom of a river, beckoning you, daring you to dive. He runs his tongue over his lips, catches the bottom between his teeth, and your skin screams to be in its place. You want him to open you up, to devour you, and as though the violence of your desire permeates into him through the hot pump-and-curl of his hand, a thick bead of blood rolls from one nostril and turns into a lazy red rivulet. 

“I _will_. You want me to fuck you, yeah? Walk to the bathroom – _slowly_. Walk in and bend over the sink.”

Your knee-jerk reaction is to say _no_ — _no fucking way_. You barely know where you’re head’s at; all you can focus on is the way the bass throbs in your chest and the way he pulls his hand out of your jeans and slides his fingers between his generous, pink lips, and you wonder faintly if he’s blinked once throughout the night. Before he’s finished, you start wading through the crowd to wind your way around the corner, down a slim hallway that curves toward to a single, dingy restroom, walls scribbled with marker and mirror scratched to hell. There is no ceremony, no care or real regard in the way he bends you in half over the chipped countertop and yanks your pants down over your hips. 

“You’re gunna stay nice and fucking quiet, aren’t you?” His eyes flicker between your reflection and your ass, at the wet, pulsing pink at the apex of your thighs, as he leans back to unbuckle his belt and lower his pants. He runs his hands over your ass and spreads you open, crouching down to look, to lean in close enough that his breath tickles against your wet flesh. It’s unnerving, not being able to see him. It’s the innate knowledge of a predator afoot. It’s the feeling of being watched in the woods, of hearing and not seeing what’s stalking you. His breath gives him away in quick little buffs of air, only a handful of them before he’s pressing his soft lips against your pussy and planting a kiss, and then another, and he drags the flat of his tongue up over your slit in agonizingly slow strokes. He slaps your thigh as a series of moans fills the tiny space with your barely-held breath, pulling his tongue away in favor of kissing it again. Trying to grind back against his mouth earns you a sharper slap that stops you from being disobedient; the shape of his fingers raises in a molten welt on your skin. 

“I’d suggest you listen to me. This isn’t for _you._ It’s not my fault that you’re like this, that you’re so fucking _needy_ you’ll let just anyone take you in the restroom at a club.”

“Venue, _asshole._ ”

He squeezes your welted flesh and delivers a fresh print that overlaps, like lacework, like embroidery. He rises up to his feet and leans his impossibly long frame over your spine, creeping over your shoulder while he watches you in the mirror. It takes every ounce of will not to flinch away when he grasps at your jaw and squeezes into the hollows of your cheeks, prompting your lips apart until he can curl two fingers into your mouth like a fishhook. 

“You know, I don’t know why they say ‘ _smart mouth_ ’. Seems to me a _smart_ mouth stays _shut_. But you’re not that smart, are you? If you bite me, I’ll _hurt_ you. Yeah? Okay? Now… _fuck. Oh, fuck_ , hold still— _that’s it_ …”

His smile melts into a grimace of effort as the head of his cock pushes inside you. He works to part your muscles to him despite the way you wiggle against the sink, nowhere to move to ease his passage, nowhere to escape from the searing pain of being stretched open. His first thrusts are sharp and hard, timed clumsily to the music to force a pleasant little shudder up your spine like a silver lining to all the pain. 

“Oh, I’m sorry—does it _hurt?_ ” His voice draws high in his mockery, punctuated by breathy giggles. He kisses your shoulder-blade, trails them sloppily up your neck and coos at you, yanking your hips back to meet his thrusts. “Is _that_ gunna make you cum, too? Don’t you fucking lie to me, now, sweetheart. I can feel every twitch in that tight pussy. You like it when Daddy fucks his big cock into you? Yeah? Oh my _God_ , you _really_ like that. You love that Daddy bullshit because you’re a fucking slutty little girl, aren’t you? Don’t fucking answer me with your voice. Suck on those fingers, make it worth my while.” 

His skin tastes clean. Two of his fingers are enough, long and thick-knuckled as they are. He watches you with hooded eyes and the tip of his tongue tracing his upper lip, teasing at the edge of his teeth, and the angle of his hips drives a spike of pleasure into your guts, twisting there, roiling like a storm, like so much pent-up lightning waiting to rip from the prison of your bodies. Instead, it coils within the slick walls of your cunt, around where his cock draws violent spasms of pleasure from you and you hold your whines in the back of your throat, tucked deep in your lungs behind your shallow breaths. Drool makes his knuckles shine in the shitty lighting, just dim and yellowed enough to cast everything in a weird wash of color, like an aged photograph. It plays off the blades of his cheekbones in the mirror and the sharpness of him, the severe shadows and lines of his face etched with vitriolic hunger. There’s a pang of warning in the cage of your ribs, the realization that you’ve made a terrible mistake.

_He still hasn’t blinked._

He pulls his fingers out and slaps his big hand over your mouth, leaning down to press his lips against your throat and hum there, and when he bites down, his teeth prick your flesh with a whole new kind of sharpness, sinking through so that you whine against his palm. It’s too bright, too rough. He bites down and the vibration of his growl only serves to intensify the pain, the signal becoming distorted on its way through your poor body and translating into pleasure that comes in suffocating waves of light and pulse. He releases your throat, lips dotted red in his reflection. His eyes are blown out enough that you’re afraid. The fear is pervasive, trumped only by the way you squeeze against his cock in a grip that affords you so much sensation, so much violent heat that you could cry.

“ _Shit_ —what _doesn’t_ make you cum? I bet you’d let me slap you around, hmm? Bet you’d beg me to fuck that tight little ass and then shoot all over your fucking face—right? Tell me I’m right. Tell me you wouldn’t let me tear you apart if it meant you’d be able to cum.”

“ _Fuck you._ ”

“Too easy. Too goddamn easy.” He grunts his words with effort, between gasps sharp as knives, sharp as the jab of his hips into the soft flesh where the curve of your ass meets the thighs. The music outside is both part of another world and intrinsically linked with your current reality, blasting through the walls and into your bones, surging through each of his thrusts like his cock is wrapped with barbed wire, scraping every last bit of pleasure from your shaking frame to claim as his own. He barely looks human as blood drains down his full lips and his chin, smeared over your shoulder. He bites down again and again and it’s hard to tell if all the blood is from his nose or from you. It feels like fire, it makes you sob into his palm and thrash your legs between him and the sink, but he’s so sturdy, so fucking _solid_ and present and all but chewing on you. There’s a moment of horror as his jaw goes wide enough that you’re positive he’s dislocated it before he clamps his teeth down against your throat and digs his fingernails into your flesh. He sounds like he can barely breathe when he comes back up, all those teeth slicked wet and red. Now, _he_ looks like _he_ might cry. He smirks instead, the laugh erupting from his throat high-pitched and unsettling enough to take all the strength from your limbs. 

“ _God_ , it’s hard not to eat you alive, you know that? I wanna swallow you whole, slut. I want to know just how _sweet_ you are, want _every._ _Last. Bit_ of you, sliding down into my stomach. I want that. I want to lick your bones clean, but this is too fun. _Touch yourself._ Make yourself cum before I change my mind and suck your arteries like fucking straws.”

There’s no hesitation on your part. You reach down between your thighs, wedging your arm between the edge of the counter and your body. It’s awkward and it hurts, but it’s worth it as you shake and whimper and beg him to be gentle, and your begging only serves to intensify the pain. He goes out of his way to slam his hips forward, to crush you against the chipped, filthy countertop and bruise your cervix. He fucks you to the motion of the music and the way it winds deep in the pit of your belly, low and secret and warm as a whisper, warm as his mouth when it seals again over your shoulder. 

That’s what sparks it—that and the crash of the music through the wall, through the cage of your bones and your buzzing, scorched flesh. You’re barely a human at all when the light explodes in your cunt like shards of glass, slicing through every layer of you until all you are is sensation. 

Somewhere down on Earth, back down underneath the haze you’re floating on, he continues to brutalize you until his eyes roll back in his head and the heavy throb of his cock yanks you back to the present. His rhythm stutters and breaks up into a disjointed series of thrusts that border on tender, slow and deliberate as he pumps his cum inside of you and laps at your wounds. The sounds strangled in his throat give your body a last wrenching shudder—his shallow breaths, the jaggedness of his drawn-out moan before he dissolves into a fit of laughter; it all brands itself into your brain so that you may relive it later on. 

He remains inside of you until he’s soft, cradling the side of your face in one big hand while he licks you free of blood. He’s meticulous and greedy, lapping up every last drop and smear before he’s satisfied enough to release a sigh and catch your eyes in the mirror. 

“Why don’t you thank me for that? The show’s gunna be a whole lot easier to stomach, now, _right?_ Now that all that tension is gone?” 

He smiles and yanks his hips back, freeing himself from your cunt in one uncomfortable tug. He pulls you away from the edge of the sink and holds you by the arms, at length as though he’s going to admonish you. Instead he stoops low and peers at you with a deceivingly warm smile. It’s the eyes that will always give him away—they’re too smug. They look like there might be some kind of light back there, some silvery glow like a nocturnal animal, if only you’d look long enough. The notion that he could trap you with those eyes doesn’t seem so far-fetched. Watching your lips, he moves close enough to brush them with his own, smooth, softer than you’d expected, and immediately you yield to it. 

“ _You can thank me_ ,” he whispers, “ _by getting on your fucking knees and cleaning my cock with that tongue._ Show me just how smart that mouth can be.”

Dull pain shoots through your knees as you drop to the tile. He’s still warm, fragrant with the cum and sweat of the both of you. He’s half-hard by the time you’ve finished, but he tucks himself away all the same and ushers you to your feet, quiet and disinterested as he helps you redress and buttons his own jacket. He walks to the door and pauses, turning to glance back at you with the barest hint of a smirk on his mouth, and you briefly imagine riding those lips until he can’t take it, imagine his teeth making work of your inner thighs. 

_God, it’s hard not to eat you alive, you know that?_

“Thinking deep, hard thoughts?”

“Fuck you.” It’s all you can think of to say, a broken record that replays each time he jabs at you. Your mind feels fuzzed over, thick with gossamer cobwebs that muddy up your thoughts and make everything slow and heavy. He clucks his tongue again and waves a single disappointed finger at you. 

“I could have a lot of fun correcting you. You know my family name. If you ever feel like being _used_ again, I have an entire room I could fill with speakers at the drop of a hat. _Come find me._ ”

He lifts an eyebrow suggestively and, for the first time in your brief experience knowing him, he drops a wink that brings a fresh flush to your cheeks.

It’s the only time he’s blinked.


End file.
